We are warmly welcomed into a room lined with books – on shelves, tucked under the coffee table, footing the window seat, surrounded by a view of water glinting defiantly under clouds leaden with the last of a rare summer rain. High on an island hilltop, it was a space by and for book lovers but at first glance no place for a mermaid.

Writers control the story. So why choose a main character I didn’t like? Simple answer: he did, my male lead Jack, years ago, when I wrote my first book, Finding Maria. Rose was his love, his choice, and ultimately, his source of heartbreak when suddenly she was gone. To love Jack, which I do, hence the series of books to explore his life, I had to at least acknowledge the woman who made him a husband and father, and over two decades evolved to be the centre of his world. His heart had made its choice. To do justice to his story, I had to share hers, and that meant getting past the prickly habits and annoying weaknesses to the heart and soul of this woman. I didn’t have to like her, but I did have to understand her.

I spent a lovely evening with my son at a gardening class a few nights ago. It would have been cheaper to take him out drinking. We'd at least have payback from the empties, unlike what I'll get when these plants follow the proud tradition of those who have been potted before them, which is up and die.

We are to honour our ancestors, but it's bloody difficult when mine didn't have the sense to a board a ship headed south. They didn't end up in the Arctic, at least, but the Canadian East Coast in the grip of a February freeze is a few mitts short of a full house in the game of flesh versus frostbite. As a writer I can let my creative juices freeze where they sit, stay wine-soaked until April, or engage in some creative ways to reach the world without leaving the warmth of my flannel cocoon. As it turns out. there is nothing like a good giveaway to keep the thoughts and brand moving through the darkness of winter, and it is my great honour to announce some recent contests that have brightened my winter and hopefully the winners' days as well.

Longest Night. For winter-loving folk it sings a chorus of skis and hockey. For me, it is Shortest Day, SADS on a stick, jabbing me with icy spears of dread while growling threats of carb cravings and cabin fever that even the writer's cure-all - wine - can't silence. But this year it may be different. And I have my muse to thank.

Our Christmas craft show season begins with the first whiff of Thanksgiving turkey (October in Canada, eh?), but seasoned pros spend the entire year stockpiling inventory, planning displays, and banking vacation time from their 'real' jobs to enter the frenzied lottery that is the craft fair market.

It's the season of scare and I've already had my fill. Goosebumps erupted with a vengeance at the sight of snow on my deck during Sunday's nor-easter. My hands gnarled in torturous anticipation of having to turn my demanding 10 year old into a watermelon superhero using nothing more than a shirt, a pillowcase, and an obscure prayer to the Patron Saint of Costumes.

In cyber-time, I haven't posted a new blog since I-Pad 1s ruled the Apple store, so this is long overdue. I'm easing in slowly, committing one day a week. Wednesday. W-day, for cool women I've met or hope to meet.